


678-999-8212

by pennydown



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, kiss me thru the phone, that's it. they have phone sex.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-05 10:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17323109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennydown/pseuds/pennydown
Summary: There’s a pause, and he can hear Indrid yanking drawings off of his walls and crumpling them up. When he answers his voice is soft, and it sends shivers down Duck’s spine.“Duck, I-... Hm. I’m afraid I’ve found myself quite infatuated with you, and- well, your voice.”“I’m afraid I’m not quite followin’, Indrid.”“Duck, would you like to have phone sex with me?”





	678-999-8212

**Author's Note:**

> ❌❌MINORS DO NOT READ/INTERACT.❌❌  
> if you’re not 18 go away. i don’t make my nsfw content for you. don’t comment or kudos. it makes me uncomfortable knowing this site lets minors access nsfw but if you’re a minor go the fuck away. (esp if you’re hatereading this?? get a job?)
> 
> someone had to.
> 
> *hits the whip* only one thing i've published isn't explicit. in 2019 we live our best lives.
> 
> anyway as usual no betas we die like men

As soon as Duck closes and latches the door to his apartment behind him, the phone rings. Admittedly, since getting to know Indrid, the sound of his landline ringing loudly at any hour of the day was an oddly common occurrence. And hey, with Minerva apparently gone, he was glad for the familiarity of a mysterious person speaking to him. He hangs his hat on a hook by the door, then his jacket, knowing that Indrid knew exactly what he was up to, he figured he could take a few seconds to himself before answering. Besides, no one else called him, anyway. When he finally makes his way to his bedroom, he smiles, and when he picks up the phone, he can feel the remaining tension in his shoulders melting away.

“Hello, Duck,” Indrid greets fondly, his voice bright and pleasant as always. However, he’s speaking quickly, and it takes Duck by surprise. “You just got home from work, right? Don’t worry about feeding the cat, she’s just about to fall asleep on top of the fridge.” Duck laughs, loosening his tie as he sits on his bed, leaning his shoulder to hold the phone in place while he takes his shoes off.

“Well ‘lo, Indrid. Good t’know- but what’s the occasion? Y’got any dark prophecies for me?” He stretches, feeling the vertebrae in his spine pop, and sighs happily. “No offense, but y’don’t usually call with good news.”

“Oh, no, Duck. This is just- Well, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh. Well, I can do that. Can’t say I’m not relieved, y’know.”

It’s with that that Duck settles, leaning onto his pillows and twirling the phonecord around his finger. It was a long day, frustrating and monotonous and thanks to the fact that the moon was waning, there weren't any abominations to worry about. Things were quiet, which he would usually appreciate, but he was starting to find that being normal was boring. Boring enough that he found himself living for the phonecalls from the Mothman, for trips to his too-hot Winnebago, and for the strange drawings he so often found pressed into his hands. Indrid was a fascinating enigma who he wanted to study, endlessly, and-

“Hey, Indrid, are- are y’alright? You’re, er, breathin’ kinda hard there.” It’s true- his breaths come short and ragged, shaky, and Duck wonders if he was lying about not having any bad news. Suddenly, there’s a spark of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, and his paranoia runs away with him, whispering about Indrid getting found or getting hurt, or his power going out and him freezing-

“Oh. Well, ah-... Duck, would you like the truth? Or a more convincing lie?” His words are an echo of Duck’s own, on several occasions, and though the quote makes his lips curl into a laugh, he still finds himself frowning quietly.

“... Now, that’s… Should I be worried?”

There’s a pause, and he can hear Indrid yanking drawings off of his walls and crumpling them up. When he answers, his voice is soft, and it sends shivers down Duck’s spine.

“No. Duck, I-... Hm. I’m afraid I’ve found myself quite infatuated with you, and- well, your voice.”

“I’m afraid I’m not quite followin’, Indrid.”

“Duck, would you like to have phone sex with me?”

* * *

 

Duck chokes. Indrid knew he would, but the sound still makes him smile fondly- he’s sure his face is red right now, that his cheeks are flushed and hot the way they sometimes are when the Winnebago gets too warm. But then he’s silent, for a little while, and Indrid takes the opportunity to tear down more drawings ( _H2Whoa: That_ Was _Fun, the Sheriff’s car, a cake on Hollis’ kitchen counter_ ) before he decides to gently pry at Duck again.

“Duck? Did you… Ah. Did you hear me?”

“... No, I didn’t. Yes I did. _Fuck_. I wasn’t payin’ attention? T’what y’were sayin’? Because, uh, Beacon started shoutin’, and, ha-ah, you- you know how he is. Well, y’don’t, but I’m sure you can imagine?” His voice starts curling up at the end of his phrases, in the way that humans did when they asked questions. It was a fascinatingly endearing trait that Duck possessed, but as he starts to tumble down the proverbial rabbit hole, Indrid takes pity on the man and talks over him, effectively cutting his train-wreck of a lie short.

“I know you did. It’s okay, you can just tell me what you’re thinking. There’s about two-hundred ways this conversation will go, but know that I am prepared for any and all responses you have. I just… It seems as though you consume many of my thoughts, Duck. And I… Quite enjoy your voice.”

"Really?" Duck's voice is small, smaller than usual- Indrid has a feeling that it's from insecurity, scenes of Duck peering at himself uncomfortably in the mirror coming to mind. He wants to tell him how beautiful he finds him, the barest hint of crows' feet by his eyes suggesting years of smiling, his soft clean hair, his hands that have seen battles and love and helped people who needed it. Every part of Duck Newton is like a fascinating passage in an encyclopedia, full of wonder and information that Indrid wants to learn inside and out. He's worried it borders on obsessive, but in his years (and years) of life, he'd never met someone like him before. Someone who could change fate with his own hands, someone who stopped the hands of destiny with sheer force of will. He wants to tell Duck how fascinated he is, but instead, he settles for something a little easier to digest:

"Of course! Your voice holds a pleasant timbre- I must admit it's one of my favourite things about you, Duck."

"Why, thank you- now uh, what, er, what d'you mean _one_ of?"

Duck sounds small, again, and Indrid languidly stretches on his bed, smiling against the receiver as he does. He sounds interested, and though Indrid tries not to spoil himself on how this conversation will go, more and more of the futures are starting to show Duck sighing into his phone, whispering sweet nothings to Indrid- and he finds he's getting ahead of himself. It's with a breathy giggle that he begins, closing his eyes peacefully.

"I like your face, Duck. You're handsome, and I think you've broken your nose, but it only makes you more perfect. I like your hair- I want to run my hands through it. I... Hah. I like your body, Duck. You look so strong, especially next to me- and I have to say, having seen you with your sword, we can both admit that it is doing you a lot of favours."

"Indrid, I-"

"And your legs. And," he pauses to chuckle, a hand coming to cover his lips coyly as he does. "I'll confess that I have checked out your ass almost every time we've seen each other."

"Those damn glasses. Can't see where you're lookin'."

"No, you really can't. But, hm. You know, I can see when you look at _me,_  Duck." This was also true- Duck, for all of his virtues, was an awful liar, and even worse at getting caught staring. More than once, Indrid has turned to the man to see his gaze lingering, seeing him staring at Indrid like he was a fine piece of art. This wasn't exactly new to him- he knew his appearance was unusual, and tended to catch people's attention- what was new was the way his heart fluttered knowing it was Duck. "I can see when you stare at me, and _how_ you stare at me- I'd be so bold as to say that-"

"I think you're gorgeous." / "You think I'm gorgeous."

Old habits die terribly hard, Indrid realizes, as he catches himself predicting what Duck was going to say, but hearing the man's deep drawl say the words makes him feel akin to a protagonist in a romantic comedy, if his studies of the films were accurate. His heart flutters, and his cheeks feel warm, and Indrid Cold feels electric. He can't help the pleased sigh that slips past his lips, slow and soft like a smoker, and by contrast, Duck's breath comes in sharply. 

"The things I'd _do_ to you, Duck Newton," Indrid muses, running his fingers through his hair while he waits for Duck to figure out what he's going to say. It'll take anywhere from two seconds to thirty, and Indrid is prepared to wait, because Duck is worth every second. He's fantastic, he's brilliant, he's fascinating. He glows like a sun, warm and bringing life and comfort to everything around him. "You know, there were thirty-six futures where we kissed the first time you visited me. Of those thirty-six, _four_ ended in ah... What's the way people phrase it, now? I'm afraid I haven't used much slang since the '60's."

"Boinkin'?"

"Well- Well, I was going to say _sex,_  but I suppose boinking works as well, yes." Indrid can't stop the laugh that bubbles through him, light and fizzy and like he hasn't laughed in years, and his smile is so wide it nearly hurts. "But, anyway, the things I'd do to you. It's a little scandalous, Duck. _Salacious._  I've thought about- well, I- I..." Suddenly, Indrid remembers what embarrassment feels like, remembers the way human voices tremble and falter when their owners are nervous. Duck is silent, on the other hand, breathing softly as he hangs onto Indrid's every word. "I'd like to bend you over the counter in my trailer, Duck. To see you falling apart and shaking- I bet you're just beautiful when you're aroused."

"Jesus, Indrid."

"Or," Indrid can feel himself getting more excited, now, feeling his heart pound a staccato against his ribcage as he explains the fantasies that keep him up at night. "Or, I'd like to go on a walk in the woods with you, Duck. And I'd like to get on my knees in front of you and- ah. And I'd like to, mm... How do I phrase this- I want to suck your dick?"

"Holy _shit._ "

Indrid laughs, and he hears Duck hiccup through a breath, and he realizes he's been dominating the conversation. Sex, as far as he can tell, is a two-way street, a give and take, and he supposes that phone sex isn't much different. "Talk to me, Duck," he murmurs, coiling the phonecord around his fingers while his other hand slides down to palm himself slowly. "What are you doing? What are you thinking of?"

"Can't- Don't you know, Mr. Seer?"

And while Duck was technically correct, it's not nearly as fun to see everything himself and just _know_ that it's what's happening, so despite the fact that Duck can't see him, he shakes his head. "Ah- I'm afraid I'm a little distracted right now. You see, Duck, I'm- _ah_ \- I'm touching myself. I'm- hm. I'm, well, hard, and teasing myself because there's nothing sexier than your voice." He was new to talking dirty, still figuring out the ropes and fumbling around them, but he can hear Duck sigh, hear him shudder a breath, and suddenly he's talking to Indrid.

"Well- y'takin' it a lot slower than me. Makin' me look too excited. I've- I'm- er, well, I'm-" Duck's stammering, stumbling over a sentence like a record that's hit a groove, and Indrid's lips curl into a soft smile, though he decides after a moment to take pity on the poor thing.

"You're stroking yourself, right? Mm. Go slowly, Duck- ah- and, tell me. If you were here, what would you be doing?"

"Oh- I, well... My hands would just be all over you, Indrid. Wanna touch every inch of y', see y'melt under my hands. Shit. _Fuck_. I- I wanna kiss you and hear y'moan at the same time." As he speaks, Indrid awkwardly fumbles to shimmy his sweatpants to his knees, take himself out of his boxers, and quietly, he thumbs the head of his dick with a moan.

"You're so tame. You don't have to be- oh, _gosh_. You don't have to be gentle with me. For example- I- I want to sit on your lap and ride you, I- god, I know your dick is huge, but I bet it's even better in person. Or, or, I'd- I'd throw your knees over my shoulders and ff-ffffuck you, and I'd- oh, Duck, I'd hold your hands and tell you how _beautiful_ you are-"

"Ah, _shhhit_ -"

Oh! That was an interesting response- it brings Indrid pause, hearing Duck moan like a porn star (or, so Indrid assumes- he's never actually watched porn, after all), and he grins breathily against the receiver of his phone, giving Duck a few sweet moments to catch his breath before he really moves in for the kill.

"Do you like it when I praise you, Duck?"

"Do I- Do I _what_?"

"Handsome, lovely, beautiful Duck. Do you like it when I say nice things about you? D-Do you like it when I tell you how gorgeous you are?" Duck makes a stifled, aborted noise that sits somewhere between a whine and a moan, and Indrid's grin stretches so wide it almost hurts. In his excitement, he finds himself stroking himself faster, still, and he gasps airily. "Because you are- seriously, D- Duck, you're like no one I've ever seen before. And I've been alive for a long time, s-ssss-sso you know I have a pretty big pool of reference."

Duck doesn't respond- there's only one timeline where he does, so Indrid isn't too worried about that. In a few more, he comes right at those words, three where he drops the phone, and twelve (including this one) where he says:

"Indrid, Indrid, _Indrid_ -" he's toeing on desperate, voice fluttering and lilting like a beautiful song thanks to the fact that he is surely close to coming completely undone. He practically sobs out his words, dripping with need and want and the tiniest whine to his beautiful voice, and it's so sexy, and Indrid never really thought he'd really be attracted to a human- " _Please_ , keep going- nnh- please, 'ndrid, y'gotta- I wanna- c'mon, please-"

"Oh, _dear_."

Hearing Duck Newton plead with him awakens something deep and primal inside of him, and Indrid gasps, feeling a tightness in his chest that he's never known before. He thinks, in human words, that that is called a _kink_ , because the sound of Duck's voice saying please makes every nerve in his body go electric, makes him feel tense and tingly all at once, and all he knows is that the next time he sees Duck he's going to pin him to the nearest flat surface and suck his dick. Because Duck is gorgeous and perfect, with a handsome face and lovely brown eyes, about twenty freckles across the bridge of his nose, and his soft, pouty lips that Indrid wants to get drunk on.

About 30 milliseconds pass before Indrid realizes he's been narrating his thoughts to Duck, who only gasps shakily into the phone in response. There are thirteen timelines where Duck answers, but more and more of them are fading, so Indrid forces a laugh, runs a hand through his hair, and finally remembers how to control his voice. "Ah- uh, I meant it, though. You, my darling, sound so _perfect_ right now. You're gorgeous. You're like a deity, or some sort of painting brought to life because th-thhere is no way you can be real. I want to- to mark your neck, see blood vessels pop in your neck and kiss every inch o-of your shoulders, and your collarbones, and- mn- I'd love to kiss your chest. You're so big, Duck, your chest is so perfect and I know how goddamn s-sssstrong you are, so I bet you're, um, _ah_ \- muscular, love."

It's the word _love_ that does it. On cue, like a Pavlovian response, Duck gasps, and whines, and drops his phone. Through the futures he can tell Duck is coming, onto his hand with his other slapped over his mouth. It only takes Indrid seconds to follow, the sound of Duck's desperate whines sending him tumbling over the edge suddenly. It's ironic- he's a seer, but his own orgasm surprises him, hitting him hard and fast and _literally_  hitting himself in the face. Indrid's sure he'd have a longer cooldown period, basking in the sound of Duck's breathing, but the fact that there's cum on his glasses pulls him out of the romance pretty quickly. He takes a moment to wipe his glasses with the hem of his shirt, and pulls a face at the streaks that remain on the glass. However, Duck's about to speak, so Indrid tries not to focus on the blurs in his vision in favour of tuning back in to the ranger.

"Sorry, 'drid, I- I ain't really good at phone sex, huh." He's panting, a little, sounding like he just went for a jog or swung his sword at an abomination. It's unbelievably sexy, Indrid realizes, and finds himself hanging onto Duck's every word like he's a follower and Duck is his perfect, perfect liege. "I, uh, dropped my phone for a bit there, so I- I dunno if you-"

"I did, Duck. You were perfect."

"Well- now, don't go throwin' words like perfect around."

"You don't have to pretend to not enjoy being praised, Duck. If I recall correctly isn't that what made you come in the first place?"

"I- Well- Y- Y'don't have t' _say_ it!"

Indrid continues making idle chatter with Duck, enjoying the way his responses get shorter and shorter and voice softer and softer while the futures slowly narrow down to one: this one, where Duck falls asleep with his head resting on the phone, still seated upright in bed, mostly dressed. Indrid could listen to him breathe for hours- it's soft and rhythmic, and he sometimes makes a small noise that could be a snore. He's content to sit and listen, but then Indrid remembers that capitalism was a plague that ran humanity like a slave driver, and remembered that they'd both have to pay a phone bill at the end of the month- so he hangs up with a soft sigh, and spends the rest of the evening sketching a drawing of Duck's sleeping face. And though he didn't like to spoil himself, he finally lets himself doze off when most of the futures in his mind involve him waking up just after sunrise to Duck knocking on his door.

And Indrid Cold realizes that this might actually be what love feels like- awkward phone sex and pining- and he's so ready to fall head (over wings) over heels for Duck Newton.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're too young to know kiss me thru the phone by soulja boy you are probably too young to be reading this.
> 
> my twitter is @tsuremodose! give me a shout!


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